<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>be my daddy (tonight) by thesockhop</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28409700">be my daddy (tonight)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesockhop/pseuds/thesockhop'>thesockhop</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Daddy Kink, F/M, Pre-Canon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:16:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,187</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28409700</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesockhop/pseuds/thesockhop</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He came to her in the form of man the night of her dark baptism, black burning in Father Blackwood's eyes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Faustus Blackwood/Prudence Night</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>be my daddy (tonight)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from the Lana Del Rey song.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Prudence has always taken more from her last name than her first. She is a bastard child of the Night, holds the devil's tenants tight in her breast. (Power and pleasure is all that's worth chasing.) </p>
<p>He came to her in the form of man the night of her dark baptism, black burning in Father Blackwood's eyes. Asked her for whatever devotion she saw fit to bestow upon her unholy lord, and she shed the last vestiges of her virginity, lips chanting half-known prayers of old. </p>
<p>She watched Father Blackwood more closely after that, but the Dark Lord didn't see fit to revisit his form. </p>
<p>Nor hers. </p>
<p>A thousand witch orgies couldn't compare to a single night with the Dark Lord. It feels foolish, childish even, that she thought enough people might make that one night less defining. </p>
<p>And she is a near heretic for wanting else if she can't have more, isn't she? She was given the most grand of gifts - his touch, his attention - and she craves more, so much that she would glut herself on others. She plays with Nicky and the girls, turns his mind inside out until he's second guessing reality, but still, it isn't as fun as it ought to be. She and Dorcas and Agatha go on a little trip out of town to torment a mortal boy until he kills himself. And yet, her mind strays back to her first true night. </p>
<p>It's no good living in the past. She will not become some washed up crone nine hundred years before her due dammit. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Father Blackwood is leading a ritual for spring's onset, blood dripping from his fingers, lips, a wild spark in his eyes. </p>
<p>He who brought her in from the cold, he who housed her, housed the Dark Lord, the closest to divinity that she can touch. </p>
<p>Yes. Prudence will visit him at the witching hour. </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>She dons black lingerie that is reminiscent of her baptism, but not the same. It's an important, if painful, reminder. He may be the closest to her dark maker, but he is only a warlock. </p>
<p>Prudence wraps a gauzy shawl around her shoulders, charmed to make her slip into the shadows more easily, and she makes it to his office without a soul aware of her. Knuckles rap on wood loudly, and she enters without waiting, will be far more impudent shortly. </p>
<p>Father Blackwood is looking more like a scholar than high priest, translating scripture by candlelight. </p>
<p>"Miss Night, what brings you to my office so very late?" </p>
<p>His eyes glimmer, a rhetorical question, and it isn't like Prudence is trying to be sly, shutting the door behind her and letting the shawl slip to the floor. </p>
<p>"I find myself in need of your... guidance." </p>
<p>He raises an eyebrow, and a lesser girl would wince at being caught in such a blatant untruth. Rather she approaches, plants herself in his lap. Wraps a hand around his tie and asks, "Won't you help me Father?" </p>
<p>"Why I could be your father," he retorts, lips curling in a mockery of a smile. His hands slide onto her thighs, long fingers curling, nails pricking her delicate skin. </p>
<p>She smirks, says, "Are you not the father of us all Daddy Blackwood?" </p>
<p>He groans, pulls her in even closer. His appetites are unsurprising, and Prudence brushes her fingers against his hair. One of his hands slips around to her ass, desire thrumming through her, and she's pulling at his clothes, is done with this foreplay. </p>
<p>"Patience is a virtue we all must eschew," Father Blackwood says, a breathless laugh tumbling from her lips as she kisses him. </p>
<p>The familiarity nearly shocks the arousal out of her, renews it, doubles it instead. He tastes as he did when the Dark Lord came to her, could be indistinguishable now with the black heat in his eyes. </p>
<p>He doesn't disrobe her, merely moves what he deems in the way. He shoves down her top, and tits out, her nipples tighten in the cold air. Rips off the front of her lace panties, shoves a finger up into her immediately. </p>
<p>Prudence keens loudly at the pleasure-pain, the slight burning stretch as his nail scratches deep within her, still wanting him even deeper. </p>
<p>"You are a wanton harlot Prudence Night," he says, and it matters not if the emphasis on her last name is real or imagined, it clicks. Brings her back to the very first time they met, his hand dwarfing hers as he offered to bring her to a new place. To have a home and become a proper witch. Her damned savior. </p>
<p>"I am many things," she says, hips rolling further into his hand, tits jiggling, and can feel his erection beneath her. </p>
<p>Seeks it out and it hits her once more how eerily similar this is to how the Dark Lord claimed her. In fact, if she closes her eyes and brings forth the memory, it could be the Dark Lord beneath her. Or that Father Blackwood - </p>
<p>He switches his finger for his cock fast, her breath hitching, eyes abruptly open. The pleasurable burn is so much stronger now, a deep ache inside, as her hips rock, each movement a little slipperier. So much larger than the boys of the academy, Father Blackwood fills her right. She could sit in his lap for days like this, full and surrounded, basking in the gratification. </p>
<p>He's looking far too composed beneath her as she rides him, and that won't do at all. </p>
<p>She kisses up his neck, squeezes her inner muscles, "Tell me Daddy, is this why you brought me home? To play with as your wife slumbers?" </p>
<p>He growls, nails digging into her back as he fucks up into her deeper than ever. It's almost too much, dark spots dancing behind her eyes. </p>
<p>"Father Faustus!" Prudence cries out. </p>
<p>His hand slaps her ass quick, three sharp snaps that make her clench and burn brighter. "Impudent girl," he says, but he kisses her too, ravages her mouth. </p>
<p>Father stands up, shoves her on the desk, and fucks her all the faster, grabbing her tits tight. Pain bleeds at the edges now, the desk cutting into her ass, something beneath her back, and the unrelenting wood - it all makes for a sharper pleasure within. As the contrast is stark, moans passing through her mouth with wordy shapes she does not recognize. </p>
<p>His hips slam twice more, then hold deep within her. </p>
<p>"My-ah! - child, my precious child," he says, wet heat flooding her. </p>
<p>There's something true there, an idea sinking in her gut. Words tumble past her careless lips as he softens within her, "You are. You truly are my father." </p>
<p>His cock twitches weakly within her, hands cemented on her hips, keeping her pinned to the desk. She reaches up, nails slice down his chest, will leave her own claw upon him. Her thrice-damned father who didn't see fit to inform her, to claim her in the eyes of witchkind. </p>
<p>His hand moves up, curling around her neck, nails scratching over the back. "Did I not warn you, my child?"</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>